


Sacrifice

by ExtraPenguin



Category: Goodnight Moon - Shivaree (Song), Original Work
Genre: Claustrophobic Atmosphere, Extra Treat, Gen, POV First Person, Paranormal, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 21:32:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10953126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExtraPenguin/pseuds/ExtraPenguin
Summary: I pray for the sunrise.The monsters melt in sunlight.





	Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MiraMira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiraMira/gifts).



> [Music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tCXeYq6KYZc)   
>  [Lyrics](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/shivaree/goodnightmoon.html)

_Your greatest devotee prays that you’ll rise once more. She has sacrificed one of the night’s monsters, just like she has done for years. You like her, so you might even rise. Not yet, though – even you need some rest._

 

I turn on the television and spread the tacks on the floor. My gun safe is next to my bed and unlocked. I place the knife beneath my pillow and another onto my nightstand. I feel thoughts creep up on me. I must banish them.

I fall asleep with exhaustion.

 

The Sun wakes me when it rises. I cry with relief. The tears wet my pillow. The evidence of my success and knowledge that I’ve cheated death for some hours yet is all too much.

The dark bags beneath my eyes keep growing.

I have to feed myself. I have to go outside. I stuff the knife in its holster and strap it to my waist. The monsters do not roam by day, but should I encounter one, I want to sacrifice it properly. I peep out the eyehole before cracking open the door. I open it only enough to slip out. I lock the door behind me. I keep glancing around, looking for the tell-tale shimmers that monsters had around them. Now, human vision is based on motion detection, so I twitch when the leaves do.

I do my shopping quickly. Instant meals, because I have no time to cook. The store is staffed by people with no training against monsters. I do not know whether the exit routes are monster-proofed.

I pay. I do not know where the money comes from. My god is not a kind one. Perhaps it is still the inheritance from my parents.

I walk back. It is a long way. When I return, the old man next door is on his lawn, sitting on a chair, watching me. He never speaks anymore. I did not answer his greetings, back then. I do not fall for such obvious traps.

I am hungry. I stuff one of the meals into the microwave. I eat.

I clean the silver knife and go outdoors. My god demands penance.

The Aztecs used the ear lobe. In absence of better ideas, I copy their example. I nick my ear lobe and let the blood fall on the ground in full view of the Sun. I pray for another sunrise. I have centuries of debt to repay.

Every moment, the Sun sacrifices pieces of itself to fuel the world. Humanity exists indebted. I am one of the few who pays the debt. All humans are given life through penance. The Sun might not rise if we stop. I try not to shake too much.

Eventually the blood stops.

 

I nap shortly, then wake to the sunset.

I take the knife. I put on my sacrificial robes.

I slip out the door and lock it behind me. I walk through the darkening suburbia. Most monsters prowl just outside the hedge fences of the perimeter houses.

The meadows greet me. I walk a few dozen paces more and sit in the drainage ditch. I wait.

Civil twilight. I can still see the terrain shapes unaided. Venus rises. I wait.

Nautical twilight. The few high clouds still glow purple. The stars gradually blink on. I wait.

Astronomical twilight. The skyglow from both the suburban zone and the nearby city brighten two opposite directions. Between, I can see the Milky Way, stretching from horizon to horizon, lighting my thoughts. I rise.

My night vision has improved, perhaps by practice. I clutch my knife and walk in the knee-high grass. The monsters are human-sized.

I spot one by the faint luminescence of its fur. Its collection of a thousand compound eyes is disconcerting. I hunt. I have practised. My footsteps go silent. I know how to not step on any twigs. I have memorized each spot of this meadow.

I reach the monster. It starts to turn to regard me. I slash, once, to weaken it. It rises up to its full height, a head taller than me, and roars. I plunge the knife into its belly, careful not to damage its heart.

It falls backwards. My knife is the obsidian of night, but it glints with the monster’s fading lights. I must work quickly.

I lift out the monster’s still-beating heart. Tonight’s offering to the Sun. Each heart is a part of the Sun, a divine Sun-fragment, trapped within the body and its desires. I free them to the Sun.

The heart stops beating. Its glow fades.

I free a symbolic rib from the corpse. It, I shall store. A memento of a sacrifice. A reminder of my duty.

I dodge past monsters on the way home. One hunt, each night. I do not have the strength for more.

When my strength gives in, I shall sacrifice myself. Perhaps there is an afterlife. Perhaps I shall be welcomed into the House of the Sun.

 

I lock the door behind me. I clean the rib. I have but one decoration in my home: a Nahua poem I calligraphed onto nice paper and framed:

 _Where is your heart?_  
You give your heart to each thing in turn.  
Carrying, you do not carry it…  
You destroy your heart on earth.

I turn on the television and spread the tacks on the floor. My gun safe is next to my bed and unlocked. I place the knife beneath my pillow and another onto my nightstand. I feel thoughts creep up on me. I must banish them.

I fall asleep with exhaustion.

 

_Your greatest devotee has once more tried to repay you for your gifts. She will never succeed in full. Still, she strengthens you, and once more averts the apocalypse._

_She says good night to the Moon and prays for your return. Such displays of piety are a satisfaction in this wrong-thinking world._

_Eventually, they will re-learn. Again._

_You are not a kind god, but your greatest devotee strengthens you. You shine upon her bank account._

_Perhaps, come morning, you shall rise._

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise for any misrepresentation of Aztec mythology. Poem translation from Irene Nicholson's _Firefly in the Night_ via Wikipedia.


End file.
